To Grandmother's House
by Pat Foley
Summary: Spock comes to stay with T'Pau. Complete. Holo series.


**To Grandmother's House**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

It wasn't voices that woke him. Something outside of the normal five senses. But the sense of voices raised in contention raged on, just the same.

He rolled soundlessly out of bed, and soft-footed out the door, from bedroom, to workroom, to outer room to hallway. He had to know. Down one level of stairs and along another hallway leading to his parents' suite. The Vulcan night was dark, moonless, lit only by starlight. But Spock was bred to it.

He crouched in the hall, curled into a tight ball, chilled and shivering, listening to the argument that had been going on between his parents, in fits and starts, since he'd turned seven.

His mother didn't like his father's choice of a bride for him.

Spock heard something breakable crash against the wall behind where he sat, and he tightened his knees. He wasn't sure his mother was wrong on her views. T'Pring was … cold. Maybe she was merely being Vulcan. Maybe having a dispassionate bride would be a good thing.

But it seemed so strange to him. His only example of how a woman should behave, as a wife, as a mother, was a loving human. He thought of her warmth, her laughter, her songs. Even now, when she was bitterly arguing with his father, she was passionate. Stirring his father's passions in turn. Passions could be good or bad. But he knew for Vulcans, they were always dangerous. Not to be indulged. He heard the sharp tones in his father's voice. A tone he had thought reserved solely addressed toward himself.

The argument escalated.

And escalated.

And then to his disbelieving ears, he heard the unthinkable pass between them. A threat unconscionable to Vulcan ears.

_Kroykah!_

Bondmates never _separate_!

His mother couldn't just **leave** his father.

There **was** no divorce on Vulcan. Only death.

And she **couldn't** take him to Earth. He didn't know **how** to be human.

And while Vulcan was often lonely, and his half-breed heritage had caused him to be bullied, still being Vulcan was all he had ever known. All he had been allowed. Even by her.

Could she really take him away, as she was threatening? Would his Father allow it?

Or almost as bad, perhaps even worse, would he be left here, on Vulcan, alone? To watch his father abandoned by his bondmate and die because of his son's transgressions?

His breath came short and fast. He was shivering, trembling, crouched against the cold stone wall.

He wrapped arms around himself, and knew there was only one solution. His mother was trying to defend him – the human part of him that she believed she saw in him. He had been remiss, as his father had often said, to allow that. He had to give up any claim to his humanity. Convince her he wanted none of it. That he was his father's child entirely.

He would have to act, play a part, lie to her. Then she'd have no need to take him away. Or to leave his father.

Spock clenched his fists, and steeled himself. He was still very young. But he would need all his father's disciplines, all his mother's savvy, to pull off this deception.

But it was life or death. For his father. His family. For him.

He would tell his parents tomorrow that he definitely wanted T'Pring as a bondmate. And that he chose to follow the Vulcan way exclusively.

He sobbed just once, and a tear fell on his clenched hands as he thought of never allowing himself ever again to fully experience his mother's love, to embrace her, to allow her to embrace him.

It would be the last tears he allowed himself for decades.

.

x x x

Six months later, Spock had succeeded in his deception. Subterfuge ordained by, to him, necessity. He'd been bonded to T'Pring. His mother had been skeptical, confused, reluctant. But she'd yielded to his preference to follow the Vulcan way fully and exclusively. And his parents had made a sort of peace between then. One that only seemed risky and tentative when he was the source of contention between them. He tried hard not to be, conscious of the consequences.

And now his parents were going away on a lengthy diplomatic assignment, leaving him behind. He was torn over that, stressed and sorry to see his parents going off to mediate peace among dangerous outworlders. And yet, in a way, their absence would also relieve a source of anxiety for him.

But even as she was preparing to leave, something happened to Spock's mother as she squinted through the harsh Vulcan sunshine up at the ancient school building. She was dressed for travel, as was Sarek beside her. But her previously calm and polished demeanor, suddenly changed to confusion. Amanda seemed suddenly disconcerted. Daunted.

"Sarek," she said, her breathing shorter and more rapid than just the low oxygen levels would account for. "I'm …I'm not sure about this school."

Sarek gave her a quizzical glance. For these last minute diplomatic assignments, Amanda usually ended up tasked with Spock's caretaking needs, with Sarek's approval, of course. "You made the arrangements."

"Yes, but— now that I see it. Here. Today." She stared up at the tall sandstone towers of the edifice, looked around the courtyard. There's something **wrong** this time."

"What do you mean?" Sarek asked, frowning. "There is nothing…"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Just a feeling."

All three Vulcans, Sarek, Spock and the Vulcan headmaster waiting to collect Spock, nearly jumped out of their Vulcan skins at this heretical statement.

"You're merely reacting to our imminent departure," Sarek said, giving her a firm look meant to suppress this talk of emotions. "It's illogical to change these plans now. We need to say our farewells to Spock. And go."

"But—"

"Amanda," Sarek put a meaningful edge in his voice.

Spock could see his mother straighten.

"There is no time for unfounded assumptions," Sarek continued, striving for sweet reason. "Agreed?"

Amanda hesitated a long moment, biting her lips, looking from Spock to the school to her husband. "I suppose," she said slowly.

"Then let us bid Spock good-bye and all go to our respective tasks," Sarek said.

"Take care, darling," Amanda said, striving to smile, even though Spock could hear her voice trembling. She half reached out to embrace her son.

Spock straightened, taking a half step back just out of reach, appalled she would even consider doing this on the doorstep of his latest boarding school. He could just imagine the eyes looking out from every window, curious to see the alien woman emoting on their doorstep. And imagine too, what his soon to be fellow classmates would do and say to him, seeing her like this.

"Amanda," Sarek warned again, in a low voice, equally Vulcan appalled.

"We won't be with him again for months, Sarek," she countered, hands folding into fists at being thwarted from what would have been a normal human leave-taking, mother to child. "This assignment. It's so long. Perhaps we **could** bring him along. We could take a tutor—"

Sarek approached her, taking her aside, his voice low, urging, persuasive. "Amanda, Spock is Vulcan. He's chosen the Vulcan way. His place is here."

From where he stood Spock could heard his mother choking back a sob that even his father's broad back and strong shoulders couldn't muffle. He was sure his headmaster could hear too. He flushed in embarrassment. Even for his mother, on leave-takings, this behavior was unprecedented. Usually she did her crying, if she did cry, at home and in private. He'd seen some of that this past year with the arguments over his bonding to T'Pring. Seeing his parents so at odds had frightened him. And he'd done what he'd thought he had to do to settle the issue, choosing his father's way. His father's choice.

His mother **had** suffered. But the arguments had ceased, even if she had grieved over losing him, from her point of view. But she accepted his choice and tried not to impose her disappointments on him. Most of the time. Shining eyes filled with unshed tears were all he usually saw of such emotions. On Vulcan, she tried to behave with respect for Vulcan propriety.

So this display of emotions, particularly now, was unwelcome and unusual.

Squirming inwardly, he tried to imagine sinking through the cobbled square of the school's entranceway. Wishing both his parents away. He had chosen the Vulcan way, duty and obedience. He was long past wanting or expecting to follow or shadow his parents like some pre-Kahswan infant. She **knew** this. He had no choice. She had no choice. All this emoting was superfluous. And illogical.

After a moment, Amanda got control of the worst of her emotions. She straightened, wiping her face with her hands, and came back to him. "I'm sorry, Spock. I don't know why this seems so much worse than usual. Perhaps it's that it could be as much as six months before we— And I know we've left him at school before, Sarek," she said, turning back to her husband, "But I just have such a bad **feeling **this time -"

Spock barely stopped from gawping, control aside, at this second repetition of the forbidden word. Sarek's brows flew to his bangs. Even Sneven, the school's headmaster, who'd come out to greet this highly connected student, and who'd been attending this unusual leave-taking with a lack of expression that was related more to culture shock than non-emotion, stiffened at this doubly blatant verbal expression and acknowledgement of emotions. Feelings, indeed!

"Enough, my wife." Patient as he had been, even Sarek sounded equally exasperated at this heresy. "Spock will be perfectly well, as always."

"Oh, I hope so," Amanda said, staring anxiously at her only child, with a penetrating glance, as if trying to see the future.

Sarek gave Sneven, the school's headmaster a galvanizing look. "I think it is past time for Spock to get settled."

"Yes." Sneven turned to his new student. "Spock?"

"Farewell, Father. Mother," Spock said with formal Vulcan precision. He didn't offer the familial embrace of crossed hands, unwilling to get that close to his mother, lest she touch or kiss him in some human way. Instead he took a step back toward the school doors, pleading with his eyes for her not to approach him and draw this out further.

Collecting herself with difficulty, Amanda bit her lip, but tears fell from her lashes, even as her face crumpled. Sarek opened the flyer's door for her and came just short of hustling her in. After a final warning glance to his son against letting his countenance falter, Sarek closed the hatch behind them. And the aircar flew off.

Spock let out a little huff of breath at its rapid disappearance. He went from being embarrassed by his mother and worried over being forced to betray his father's expectations for control, to being alone. Left behind without any sense of having had a reasonable farewell. It had all been about his mother's tears and his father's worry over his son's – and his mother's - control. Instead of some sense of regard and connection to carry them forward through this separation. He had wanted, no, **needed** that. Was it too much to expect?

Spock looked at the empty space in the Vulcan sky where the flyer had disappeared and fought off the impression of being abandoned. Yet, again. More so than if they had said an affectionate, if fully Vulcan, farewell.

"Come, child," Sneven said, his own voice sharp with distaste over the emotional scene he'd been forced to endure. A warning that he'd tolerated quite enough of that and would take no more.

Spock followed mechanically, thinking regretfully of Sarek's final reproving, warning glance. His mother's face, turned away to hide her tears. Neither a memory to give comfort.

Couldn't he and his parents just take leave of each other normally? The way he'd seen other Vulcan parents drop off their sons at school? Why did their leave-takings always have to be rife with negative emotions and recriminations?

Spock followed, with a final sideways glance, fighting off his own slew of unwelcome emotions. Disappointed, resentful and almost angry now. He gave a surreptitious glance from under his lashes at the hole in the hazy Vulcan sky where the aircar had once been. And he pondered the meaning behind his mother's tears. Perhaps because his parents were taking more risks than usual, this time. And for longer. Perhaps she knew something he did not.

He took a gulping breath of air, suddenly close to tears himself. He fought them back with every discipline he knew. Sneven gave him a sharp look as he snuffled, once.

"Spock. Remember your control. Your father's heritage. You are not just Vulcan. You are the heir to Surak."

Spock gave him a narrowed eyed glare, the better to hold back tears. As if he didn't know that. Didn't hear it every day, chastised for every slight failure by every tutor while others of his peer groups had far more relaxed standards to meet.

As if he could forget, given that heritage was what took his parents away from him. His father's profession, his own hereditary duties, all that his parents did, going out among warring aliens to meditate disputes as part of Surak's legacy of peace, was dangerous. Did Sneven not realize that he understood that?

His heritage, even on the Vulcan side alone, had always been a double edged sword. Or perhaps since parents and tutors stressed only the control side of his heritage, and never thought to mention the dangers, did they think that he was as cluelessly unaware as a pre-Kahs Wan child?

He might be sheltered. His parents might have thought to leave him ignorant of the dangers. But his older classmates, those with wider net access than he, had often rubbed his nose in every ribald headline they could ferret out. Most of the time, he didn't choose to look. Now wondering what he hadn't seen that had upset his mother so, washed him with anxiety. He took a few more deep gulping breaths, fighting panic, telling himself his father was more than competent. They would return. Half a standard year, at worst and he'd see that same aircar flying down through the sky. And in the meantime, nothing was going to happen. Nothing to them. Nothing at all.

Had he made the sacrifice to follow the Vulcan way, to keep his parents together, only to see them die from it?

As for his mother's tears for him, – well, certainly nothing would happen to him, **here**. His mother's illogical premonitions aside.

Of all the certain things in an uncertain galaxy, few things were more regimented, more tedious, more **boring** than the life of a Vulcan child in a Vulcan school.

But what if his parents were in danger? If they didn't return, who would ever want or take the half-breed, half-Terran heir to a Vulcan legacy? T'Pring's family?

Somehow he doubted that.

He stayed his panic. Evened his breathing. He **would** not cry. He would not. All would be well.

If he walked into this school with tears on his cheeks, and was seen, his life would not be worth living.

As the doors of his school enclosed him, Spock embraced control fervently. As he no longer chose to embrace his human mother.

And with that, became a casualty again of far ranging parents professionally committed to the siren call of Federation politics. In their stead, Vulcan regimentation and society, control, had to become his family. His most constant security. It was all that was left to him. He mastered himself. He let nothing show.

But in spite of his efforts to appear stoic and Vulcan, word had spread about the events of his arrival. With that, peace and security was doomed from the start. When he approached his classmates for the first time, their faces might be stoic, but their black eyes were bright with malicious glee. And he sighed just a little. Here it would begin again.

It was both unfortunate and ironic that, even during those times when he needed Vulcan most, when he was alone on Vulcan, in a solely Vulcan environment, his humanity seemed to rise to prominence. The only half-Vulcan child in his prestigious boarding school, his perfect elfin Vulcan ears soon rang with the nearly soundless taunts of _Earther, Earther _whispered behind his back as he walked from class to class. And when adult Vulcan ears were out of range, also to his face.

"Earther," Sarl hissed behind him. A distant cousin and kinsman who resented the pollution of humanity into Surak's clan and blood, he'd become a particular tormentor. "You're a half-breed Earther."

Spock ignored this philosophically. After all, it was true.

"And your mother – she's not even worthy enough to be accepted into the clan. She's no better than a chattel. Less than one of the green animal Orion women. And you're her **bastard**."

Even at the tender age of eight standard years, Spock came with a certain past. In general a peaceful child, he still had a limit beyond where he would not be pushed. Spock launched himself. Sarl soon sported his own unpolluted green blood flowing from a broken nose, courtesy of a very human round-house punch Spock had landed on him.

"I heard your father had to bribe T'Pring's family to get them to accept you as a bondmate," Sefton claimed. A cousin of T'Pring, he resented Spock on the grounds of forced relation by marriage. "Your father had to **pay** to get a wife for you."

Spock ignored this loftily. It might be true.

Thwarted at the lack of reaction, Sefton continued. "And T'Pau couldn't even pay enough to get one to take **him**. Your father had to bring home an animal **Earther**." Spock launched himself again. In spite of Sefton having years and twenty pounds on Spock, the older boy soon had a lavender eye, courtesy of the same.

Teachers increased their supervision. Routine was tightened following these incidents. Spock had bruises as well, though with his history, he had more practice in hand to hand. After the first skirmishes, his foes had begun resorting to landing on him en masse, rather than risk a single confrontation. He developed acute hearing, and was careful where he went. But he was still occasionally ambushed in private, and subjected to being pummeled on arms, legs and torso, where the bruises were unlikely to show. In public, his foes jostled, snubbed or shunned him, in addition to the whispered taunts, his tormenters pitching them just below the hearing of adult ears.

_Earther. Earther. Earther._

So much for the relative peace the school's regimentation should have provided.

Oddly enough, Spock was on old ground with this. It had always been that way in this supposed IDIC revering society. Even among his own family. However his father might regard his mother in many positive ways, Sarek had proven he also sometimes shared this attitude toward Terrans.

And toward him too, his half-Terran child.

It inoculated him against the school's collective attitude. He wasn't immune to the disdain, the violence. But prior exposure had inured him to it.

Spock pondered that, while the school administration wondered how to stem the wave of altercations that seemed to surround their latest pupil. And even while they half-regretted accepting him, they strove to contain them. Before something serious happened to their important charge.

Part human or not, Spock was still a valuable commodity to his society. And his father was a formidable parent, leader of a prominent clan, one to whom educators had to account for any untoward happenings. Spock was the last scion of that clan.

Even as he weaved and dodged through a sea of hostility, he didn't think of that.

He was only eight. In spite of all his father's attempts to stress his Vulcan heritage as dominant, in spite of his Vulcan appearance and Vulcan abilities, the human aspects of his heritage often seemed to be what everyone counted or stressed. It blinded him to his status in Vulcan society. He might be the heir to Surak. But that he was also the half breed child of an Earthwoman seemed more important to many, perhaps most Vulcans. Spock rather thought his father failed to understand that. Perhaps due to his frequent absences on diplomatic missions. His father's illustrious Vulcan heritage didn't override that of his mother's in many Vulcans' eyes. He was taunted multiple times a day with his divided heritage.

And as for his Vulcan father? He wouldn't see him for months. What did he know?

"What do you think?" Sneven sank wearily into a chair across from Sveron, Spock's housemaster. This marked the fourth time they had encountered Spock fighting off a knot of marauding classmates and separated the brawling brats.

"Sefton should go." Sveron rubbed his ear where he'd caught a clout.

"If so, then Sarl also has been an instigator," Sneven said.

"But a kinsman of Spock. Highly placed in the clan," Sveron warned, steepling his fingers, longing for the peace of meditation. "His family—"

"That's hardly a reason to excuse him."

"True, but Sefton is twelve, and long past the age where he should be engaging in such behavior. Sarl is a full two years younger. Young enough to be trained otherwise."

Sneven nodded once. "Contact Sefton's parents. We'll grant them three days to make other arrangements. Ten if they absolutely require it. The other boy we'll let off with a warning.

"And what do we tell Sarek?"

"Nothing," Sneven said, brows flying upwards. "Are we to tell him our students are worse behaved than a half-breed _Xhanzrei_? **You** are to get better control of your students. Stop this … pre-Reform brawling."

"Spock has–"

"He **ends** it. I have yet to find any definitive proof that he begins it."

"He ends it with his fists."

"Because he has no other means. So far. But others begin it. You're to stop this by preventing it from having a chance to begin." Sneven turned to his colleague. "After all, we are tasked with turning out post-Reform Vulcans from all these pre-Reform …children. Unless you care to explain that failure to Sarek."

"Certainly not."

And they attempted to do just that.

But even the strictest of supervision can't protect entirely against the smaller invaders of microbes and viruses. Vulcan Space Central did its best in screening newcomers to the planet for contraband. And nothing was more contraband than disease. But invaders of that sort have a stealthy habit of mutating. In this, Spock's eighth year on Vulcan, a terrible plague began.

It first made slight inroads among the adults, causing only mild concern. But then it mutated. This new version attacked Vulcan's most rare and precious resource.

Its children.

None of this affected Spock at first. Though he would not prove immune.

The school was not just exclusive, it was somewhat removed from ordinary Vulcan life. That protected it for a while. When the disease began its decimations among the normal schoolchild population, boarding schools, with their more isolated populations, stayed inviolate for a while. And parents left their children there, hoping the Healers would find a cure before it reached them.

But they did not. And the virus spread.

Spock didn't particularly take note when the first children fell ill. He had few friends to miss. But within ten days, the school's rigidly kept routine fell apart. And he noticed that.

Those children who fell ill were kept isolated. They took up most of the time of the school's adults, for Healers were in short supply and all available adults were filling in as caretakers. Those parents who were resident on planet took their well children home, hoping to isolate them further.

Those that were left and healthy, in the absence of close supervision and classes, went somewhat wild. Like the little pre-Reform monsters they could be.

Spock went from student to prey. Or play, of a sort. He spent his days in a game of fox and hounds. He might be one lone fox among many pursuing hounds. But a fox is cleverer. He was seldom caught. Seldom. Not quite never.

But even that didn't last long. Because the illness continued to spread. And even the school proved no obvious bailiwick as more fell ill.

Sefton, of the violet eye, was whisked to safety. He eventually survived. Sarl, however, was one of the first casualties.

And Spock was one of the last. Standing on the sidelines of tragedy, still healthy, a little frightened, Spock watched as aircars flew in, collected children and left in hurried swarms. Spock had no parents on planet to remove him. But the advantage of removal soon faded. As the infection spread, safety anywhere on Vulcan became very much a moot point. At school more children succumbed till only a final few stayed well. Those who remained unscathed were left to largely set their own schedules, to read or study or wander the grounds, as they chose. In fact, close associations and confines were recommended against, to hinder any spread to those as yet unaffected. So classes were disbanded. Schedules were relaxed, apart from a twice daily check in. Meals became a matter of picking up a protein bar or a piece of fruit and a drink buffet-style from the refectory, and taking the meal outside, picnic style, or somewhere else secluded.

Either the alien human factors in his hybrid blood chemistry, or his rare T-Negative Vulcan blood type protected Spock at first. And for a few days he was even happier than he had ever been at boarding school. Even though in a sea of contagion. With a portable reader to hand, and leisure to indulge himself, he spent his days in pursuits entirely of his own making. Indeed, with increased fresh air and a more relaxed schedule, and leisure to eat what he liked, as he liked, no more the quarry of a rabid pack, he began to gain back a little of the weight he'd lost with any new change of school. And gained some color in his cheeks. The bruises from his prior altercations turned violet, predatory to fading.

But then the virus mutated again. Many of the Healers had T-Negative factors in their blood, the reason for their advanced psi skills. It was a healer, just starting to succumb, his mental processes clouded so that he was both contagious and unaware, who spread the disease to Spock during morning check in. The viral particles traveled on the wind from the healer to Spock and his own cells took them in.

Under normal circumstances, someone should have, would have contacted Sarek before this point. But these were far from normal circumstances. Many of the faculty had succumbed. The remaining were concentrating on those who were ill. Those children not ill were isolated in place. Notifications to distant parents were luxuries no one had thought or time to perform.

Sarek became aware of the situation through news reports forwarded to him by his aides. He had placed a subspace call to his son's school to inquire as to his only heir's health.

"Sarek." Harried under the circumstances, Sneven didn't quite keep the impatience from his voice. "You would have been contacted if circumstances merited it."

"Spock is **not** ill," Sarek said, seeking that confirmation.

"He is not. His rare blood type has conferred immunity. Or perhaps his hybrid nature."

"I was concerned," Sarek said slowly. "I had some sense of his discomfort. Perhaps nothing more than the usual – But on the receipt of this news—"

"All children are checked twice a day for signs of the illness and are isolated immediately upon any symptoms. Spock was found well at this last check."

"And what are your recommendations for the immediate future?" Sarek asked.

"Children who have not succumbed are isolated away from ill children. Students here, relatively sequestered while boarding here, were among the last to succumb. We believe there is no better place on planet for students to reside. Some parents have taken children home, with mixed results. Some remain well. Some have fallen ill. Regardless if you have some family member to take Spock-"

Sarek straightened. "Negative."

"Perhaps his bondmate's family?"

"No!" Sarek said, a bit too strongly. He'd worked hard to get Spock bonded to T'Pring, and for good reason. In spite of the child's chilly nature, her family was highly placed, and interested in retaining that position. With T'Pring's fate and social position tied to Spock's, his son had two families behind him ensuring his acceptance. But Sarek had no illusions that the bonding couldn't be dissolved if Spock revealed himself as too human. Until his control was inviolate, Sarek preferred to keep Spock and T'Pring apart. They would have time later to become acquainted, when Spock had mastered control.

"Very well," Sneven said, taken aback by Sarek's vehemence. "Perhaps he'll remain immune."

When Spock fell ill, Sarek was days from Vulcan, even by a high warp shuttle. Even though Spock's fever was yet light, the consequences to Vulcan were too high to leave the condition of the heir to Surak in mere Healer's hands. There was no time for subtlety.

Sneven contacted T'Pau, even before he could get a subspace call through to Sarek.

T'Pau had been greatly concerned about this threat to Vulcan's children, and had been following the healers' response to the crisis, and ensuring that no resource was denied them to counter this generational threat. So she was not surprised to get a call from the Healer's Enclave.

But she was surprised as to the subject.

"Surely it is for Sarek to attend?"

"Sarek would have to abandon his duty. And travel to get here. I had assumed you'd wish—" the healer spread his hands. "He **is **your heir."

"That is a political connection," T'Pau said. "Imposed on me by Council."

"He is your Grandson."

T'Pau straightened at that. Spock had never addressed her by a familial title. Indeed, since her refusal to accept his marriage and adopt his wife into the clan, Sarek himself referred to her only by name, never the familial title. She had heirs. But not family. Not in that sense. Not in the sense of personal relationship. Personal responsibility.

The healer saw her clear unwillingness. "I suppose something else could be arranged," he said.

"**Something**?" T'Pau asked, offended for her heir, in spite of her own refusal. "Something **suitable**."

"The most suitable, the most expeditious would be if he could be cared for by family."

"Impossible."

The healer faltered before this. "His case is a light one. He is not very ill. I suppose he can remain in the school's infirmary."

The healer left, but his cause remained on T'Pau's mind. She went about her tasks for one day, two days. She had no word of Sarek's return. By the third she could no longer restrain her curiosity. When the Enclave liaison came to brief her on the status of the epidemic, she asked about Spock.

"He lives still."

"He is recovering?"

"As of today, no."

"What of Sarek?"

The healer was clearly uncomfortable. "I had informed Sarek what I had told you. And given Spock's case was then light—"

"Light?" she said.

"He made the same decision you did," the healer said. He lifted his eyes a bit, letting some of his frustration show with these _Xhanzrei._

"He is not coming?" T'Pau said.

"He is deep in complex negotiations. His duty. And at the time, Spock's condition was less than critical. I cannot fault his logic."

"But he will come **now**," T'Pau insisted.

The healer shrugged. "The crisis will come today. Or tomorrow. There is no time for Sarek to return."

"But—"

"We contacted his future bondmate's parents this morning," the healer said. "But of course they have their own child to consider. T'Pring is still unaffected. Still, it's unfortunate if Spock should…pass…without even a distant family member to share his mind and ease his departure. Nor even a relation by marriage."

"That would be … a disservice."

"Perhaps then, you—" the healer suggested.

"I haven't had the care of a child that age since – " she said, and stopped. She thought of her child at that age. Of Sarek's child at that age now.

"That will only be an issue if he survives."

"If?" T'Pau asked, still finding it hard to take in.

"Not even _Xhanzrei_ are inviolate now." When she didn't respond, he let it go. "Perhaps it is safer if you do not take him. While it so far affects only those under 40 standard years, there is the possibility it could mutate to a form that could affect your generation. The Matriarch must be careful."

"But thee think he should come to me," she insisted.

The healer hesitated. "The child does not have a strong parental bond."

"He is a powerful telepath."

The healer shrugged. "Sarek is not. It seems….wrong… for the heir to Surak to die alone without even the comfort of a distant parent. And as healers, we can't –" But in the face of her reluctance, he capitulated. "He is, after all, part human. Perhaps not a true son of Surak after all."

T'Pau stiffened at that insult. "Bring my heir here."

Spock was carried in, in a healer's arms.

Smaller than she had expected. Perhaps he was shrunken with fever. His skin, flaccid with dehydration. Perhaps the responsibility for caring for him had made the obligation – and him – loom overlarge in her mind. But the healers had been right – it might never come to that, based on his condition now. She steeled herself for his death.

He really did look like any Vulcan child. If he had human elements, they weren't apparent on the surface.

But that was the problem. She knew his rank in school. His accomplishments. His psi skills.

She hadn't chosen to know him beyond that. His acceptance had been forced on her at Council, when he was three. He had intrigued her then – his apparent likeness to his Grandfather, her husband, now deceased, had been part of it. But also even just being in his presence, the few times he'd attended Council, she'd felt a connection, a resonance of aura, that was entirely outside of superficial looks. The boy was his Grandfather, revisited. His face, his aura, his mind. T'Pau could sense that.

But she was wary of it. She'd had no choice but to acknowledge him as heir. And he'd intrigued her since then.

But for all that, his human mother tainted him. She didn't want to know that part of him.

Children were dying now by the dozens, even the hundreds. His age group was particularly vulnerable. She might well choose this opportunity to rid herself of him. This could even be that opportunity. Even after a lifetime of Vulcan disciplines, the desire for revenge against her son's treason, her unacknowledged daughter in law's infamy, was momentarily strong. There was a pre-Reform Vulcan under the shallow veneer of any Vulcan's control. Herself not excluded.

Spock moaned in his fever.

As a problem, one of his very existence, he had loomed over-large in her mind for many years. One she hadn't wanted to acknowledge and yet could not remove. So that now when she looked down at him, his life and fate in her hands more than ever before, she was surprised at how small he was. Only a sick, feverishly ill, young child, helpless and dependent upon her for his very life. And for the first time in a long time, a very strong emotion took her entirely unaware. Amazement that she had let her own prejudice blind her to reality. Shock that she'd even slightly considered letting this young life slip unfought into death, merely to get her own way.

"Give him to me," she said. No emotion showed on her face. Her control held. But she was not unmoved.

And so Spock came to the Palace, to live or die as fate would have it. And T'Pau arranged for him to be cared for by the best Healers and even human physicians on planet. Skilled attendants soon followed.

T'Pau stayed, watching as the child was examined and attended to by his healers and the human physician she had also called, mindful of the boy's dual heritage. Her eyes widened when the scanners revealed a network of bruises from neck to knee.

"What illness causes this?" she asked.

"Not illness, but injury," Mark Abrams said, setting aside his scanner.

"What activities could cause these injuries?" T'Pau asked. "His Kahs Wan training is past. Even that would not cause these." She half reached out to touch bruises across the boy's stomach the size of dinner plates.

"Looks like bullying to me," Abrams said. "And that they piled on him all at once. Like puppies on a shoe."

"But this is dangerous," she contested.

"It's not good," Abrams said. "These kind of hematomas generally resolve without issue, but there's always a danger of internal bleeding from this sort of injury, or a blood clot reaching lungs, heart or brain."

"What school would allow this?"

"Hard to police kids every second," Abrams said. "But yeah, I wouldn't want to send him back there. Not to that. That is, if – when," he added, "he recovers from this."

"If?"

"We'll do the best we can," Abrams said, almost as stoic as a Vulcan. "We can promise nothing."

T'Pau sat by Spock's side at every free moment. The crisis could come at any time. Even though he was unaware of her, or where he was, it was her duty that he not die alone. In the worst of his delirium, she heard the boy cry out, over and over, for his mother. The child's emotional distress overwhelmed her. He was dying in earnest, dying alone, her presence non-withstanding. She was not whom he wanted. She took herself from the room, faltering in the outside corridor.

"Matriarch," the healer asked, coming after her, concerned for her.

"I am not thy patient," T'Pau said, sending the healer back to Spock. She needed a moment alone, to compose herself.

Was it right to allow any Vulcan child, with such an aura, able to reach mind to mind without touch, to die alone like this?

No. She had to reach him.

She mastered the emotions the boy had stirred in her, and returned to his side. Gesturing the healer aside, she reached for the child's temples.

"Mother," he moaned, nearly out of strength, having begun the long wandering path out of life itself.

"Thy mother is not here, Spock," T'Pau said to him, mind to mind. "She is far. But I am your Grandmother. And **I am here**. Thee are not alone."

And the force of her own mind was strong enough that Spock turned, and came to her. And in that turning, something cemented between them. And Spock began the long, slow road to recovery.

x x x

When Sarek heard that Spock had not just fallen ill, in contradiction to all the healer had told him about _Xhanzrei_ being inviolate, but that T'Pau had taken charge of his son, removing him from his school without his permission, or even notification, he regarded this as a double betrayal. And so he informed her.

"You had no right, T'Pau."

"If I had not, he might have died."

Sarek drew up at that. "I was informed there was little danger. And surely he was better off in the school infirmary, or the Healer's Enclave, with an experienced staff to care for him."

"I have staff."

"You have no current experience of children."

"I raised thee."

"You've taken no interest in Spock."

"I have an interest now."

Sarek bristled over concern for what that interest might be. "I want Spock returned to his school, and the care of the Healers there."

"As Matriarch, I overrule thee."

Sarek's eyes flashed and he approached the pickup. "He is mine, T'Pau."

"For the present, he is **mine**." She relented a trifle from her uncompromising attitude. "What can thy concerns be, that he is in my care?"

"That should be obvious," Sarek said darkly.

"I have accepted him as heir."

"I will not risk that you'll reject him for some perceived failing."

She bridled at that. "What failure can a sick child give? At least he lives yet, when his generation is being decimated around him. Thee haven't even asked after him."

"I will get a report from his Healers."

"They will tell thee that he is very ill. But I am having him constantly attended. I have brought in the human physician as well."

"What?" Sarek said, startled.

"Spock **is** part human."

"Are you seeking to insult him? Or me?" Sarek asked.

"If there is a chance the human physician can aid in his recovery, especially given even Vulcan healers are failing our children, he is worth the effort."

Sarek was silent a moment, taken aback by this unexpected tribute. Then said reluctantly. "His mother will be grateful."

She flared at that mention. "I want none of her human gratitude. I have no wish to hear of her. Let the human physician speak to her of her son's condition."

"I will speak to both the healers and the human, T'Pau. Before I decide whether Spock is to remain where he is," Sarek warned her, flaring in turn. And he cut the connection.

"Children!" T'Pau said, facing the abruptly darkened screen. "And the younger is less trouble than the elder."

Spock knew nothing of this. But he had turned a corner. Though weak, now he was awake. And aware.

T'Pau paused in the entranceway to his room, intentionally letting a foot fall loud enough to signal her presence. "May I enter?"

He was sitting up in bed, still pale and fragile, but looking out the window at the Palace gardens, before turning to her. "Yes, Matriarch."

She paused at that title. It **had** been some years since they had actually spoken. She had acknowledged him at Council. Nodded in Chambers. Perhaps, absent of a true familial bond, he chose not to use the familial title. But that was not sufficient.

"Grandmother," she corrected.

He paused at this. For a longer time. He looked at her, no give in his expression. More controlled than his father had been. Laboriously working their change in status through. Finally he gave the faintest flick of a brow in concession. "Yes, Grandmother," he said. No trace of emotion still on the thin pale face.

"Thy healers tell me thee are recovering well," she said.

Another considering pause while he worked her response out as if it were a chess game, and not conversation. "Will I be returning to school now?"

In spite of all control, she straightened in surprise. "Thee are far from well enough for that."

Still no expression. Though his fingers tightened into fists. "There is an infirmary."

Her face set at this, hardly knowing what lay under this unreasonable stubbornness. He was indeed his father's son. "No. This virus is still mutating. There is a risk of secondary infection. It is too dangerous. Thee will remain here."

He met her eyes curiously, his own dark and grave. "I am appreciative of your care."

"Is there anything that thee requires?" she asked him.

He looked back at her as if she were the alien, the unknown. "I am sure the healers attending me have addressed those needs."

A contest of wills, she thought. Not since her dealings with her own son had she been so opposed.

"Anything thee wish?" she persisted.

He looked down then, perhaps embarrassed at this unexpected offer of license. Accenting the shadows under his eyes. She could see the pulse beating in his temple, increasing just a trifle. "There is nothing."

She rose. "Very well, then."

He looked up then, the first trace of expression on his face. "Does my Father know…" his voice trailed off.

"That thee are here? Certainly."

He looked at her, as if he could discern Sarek's response to this news from her face. Or her mind. Finally he said. "My father's work…is very important. To Vulcan. And to the Federation."

"Nor will it be interrupted for this," she confirmed, answering his unspoken question. She added. "He spoke of thee returning to your school."

He looked down again, lashes dark against pale cheeks. "I am ready."

She snorted at this. "Hardly. And thee are in my care now. When thee return, if, and where is my decision. And solely mine. Until thy father himself returns."

He sketched a glance at her, perhaps surprised. "Yes, Grandmother."

"Now, given thee can expect to be here for some time longer, have thee any requirements?"

He thought a moment. "May I have a reader?"

She frowned at this. "Thee are well in advance of thy lessons. Surely there is no need for thee to study now."

"It is a useful occupation for the mind."

"Very well." She looked him over. "So long as thee take care not to overtire thyself. When thee are deemed well enough, I will arrange for tutors."

His eyes widened at this. "Thank you, Grandmother."

"Rest, my Grandson."

He was quiet this boy, T'Pau thought, some days later. As his strength returned, she perceived more of his true nature. Not unlike her own bondmate, in that regard. Not Sarek's quiet, a keeping of his own council due to his conviction he was always correct. This was a quiet that spoke of a deep interior life of the mind. T'Pau didn't share that temperament. She was more like her own son. But she valued it.

And in spite of his reputation and his alien nature, the boy was easy to keep. Perhaps in part due to his recovery from illness. But he asked nothing of her. Seemed to expect nothing of anyone. He slept; he ate; he read. And slept again. Had she not heard and seen him calling out for his mother, in Federation Standard, in English, she might not have credited that emotionalism.

At her age she encountered few riddles. He was one she was determined to solve.

Sarek, meanwhile, seemed more emotional than his son when he spoke to the healers and his son's educators. He was blazing with righteous fury.

"How could you let T'Pau take my son from this school without my authorization?"

"You were out of reach. She is family."

"That is debatable," Sarek said bitterly, considering her refusal to accept Amanda into the clan or even acknowledge her gratitude for Spock's care.

"She is family to Spock."

Sarek drew a steadying breath. "I would prefer him returned to school."

"Indeed? How do you suggest we remove her heir from her Palace against her will?" Sneven asked. "She has possession. She has her own Guard."

"We are healers," the healers agreed, backing off from that confrontation.

"We are educators," said Sneven.

"We are not warriors," they said together.

"Legally," Sarek began.

"And who is the final court against all custody cases?" Sneven said. "It is the **Matriarch**. She decides. She has final legal authority. And she would hardly rule against herself or see herself denied her rights. No, we can do nothing. If **you** return—"

"I cannot."

"Perhaps…if his mother were to return," Sneven ventured to suggest. It was never wise to recommend bondmates part, but in this situation, given Sarek was so obdurate…

"No."

"I would have thought," the educator commented, remembering the human woman's distress, "when she understood the situation, she would have wished to –"

"I haven't apprised her of the latest changes to Spock's condition," Sarek said. "I wasn't fully aware of them myself. And now—.

"Well, then he will have to remain with T'Pau, until and unless she relinquishes him. When you return, you can argue her to a conclusion as to his custody. You have parental authority."

"I left you _in loco parentis_," Sarek snapped.

"Sarek, there is nothing we can do, save care for your child where he is," the representative from the healer's Enclave said. "We cannot wrest him from her possession."

"You delivered him to her!" Sarek said, the core of his discontent, the heart of the matter. "Against my wishes."

"Believe me, Sarek. It was in the child's best interests."

"Perhaps for his **immediate** future," Sarek said unable to relinquish his concern and frustration. "But long term—"

The healer frowned, puzzled. "What else can concern you?"

"Spock is still young. Struggling with the disciplines. T'Pau may not be… tolerant... of that. If she takes some objection to him, then, his long-term status-"

"We were concerned with his long-term **viability**."

"Very well," Sarek relented at last, letting out a small but unVulcan sigh. "I suppose there is nothing further that can be done."

But even as he cut the connection, his hand was clenched in a near fist. His son's long term future as T'Pau's Vulcan heir, Sarek realized, was now up to Spock. And far sooner than Sarek had anticipated he would be responsible for that sole control. With his son unprepared for the task and unaware of the stakes.

Sarek thought of all the myriad mischiefs Spock could get up to, the things he might say, that he hadn't been trained or coached not to say before T'Pau.

Sarek faced the fact that his son might survive this fever. But he could lose his Vulcan life.

T'Pau meanwhile was making her grandson's greater acquaintance.

She was having tea in the gardens as usual, when Spock appeared, a shadow ghost of a child, pale and thin, but mobile. He'd been cleared for light exercise, which at this point meant limited walks through the grounds. He paused at seeing her. She gestured him forward. He came, sliding slowly into a chair opposite her.

"Thee will take tea," T'Pau decreed.

He looked at her, then shook his head, Vulcan style, a terse jerk of his chin to the left.

"No?" T'Pau asked surprised. "But the tea is excellent. What is thy objection?"

"Not mine," Spock said, choosing instead some fruit laced water. "My mother. She says children mustn't have caffeine."

T'Pau eyed the boy in astonishment.

"My mother is human," Spock explained, looking at her over the glass he'd laced his fingers around.

"I am well aware of that."

Spock gave a Vulcan shrug, a tilt of his head to the left, expressive of his doubt. "I know you have never met her. I wasn't sure."

"I wasn't aware Humans took care in such things," T'Pau said. "They eat animal flesh," she added with a faint moue of distaste.

"Some do. My mother doesn't."

"Perhaps not. However, they are … careless… in general."

"My mother says," Spock paused to take a bite of the teacake an attendant had offered him, "that making negative judgments about people based on generalities is **prejudice**."

"Indeed," T'Pau said undaunted by this judgment. "And are thee familiar with prejudice? In general?"

Spock eyed T'Pau suspiciously. "My Father says the principle of IDIC is the cornerstone of Vulcan society and civilization."

"Surak preached IDIC," T'Pau conceded. "How well it is lived is a matter of personal discipline and consistent application. Never-the-less, I asked for **thy** experience. Not Sarek's philosophy."

"I wouldn't be here," Spock said, "if it weren't for my Father's – and my Mother's – belief in IDIC. That is my experience."

"Thy personal experience, from others," T'Pau said, not put off by these diversions.

He lowered his gaze down into this glass. Fidgeted a little. "My personal experience?"

"Yes."

He looked up at her suddenly, direct and intent. "My personal experience is that IDIC is a myth preached more so than practiced as a lived philosophy." When she let something of her own surprise filter through her control, disconcerted by such candor, he withdrew again, looking down. "Though it is something toward which all Vulcans strive. Should strive," he amended.

"At school," she said.

"My life, so far, is largely bounded by schools. Lessons. Practice. Tutors."

"And at school, is it thy tutors, or thy classmates, who fail in IDIC?"

Spock's shoulders hunched, cornered, unable to dissemble before T'Pau's iron demand. "Both, at times. But the children, more so, naturally, because they have yet to master the disciplines. That's what my Father says," he added, somewhat doubtfully. "That in time it will cease."

"So thee suffer the altercations."

"When I can't prevent them." He gave her a curious look. "Why are you interested?" When she gave him a look he added. "This has nothing to do with the illness that affected my school."

"When thee arrived here," T'Pau said, pouring herself more tea. "Thee were bruised."

A look crossed his face. Memory. A mix of feral emotions, overlaid by disciplines. "Oh. That. But it's not always that bad."

"Thy injuries bely thy words. And it seems this school was incompetent in supervision."

"Not always," Spock countered with surprising objectivity. "They tried. But when students began falling ill, classes were disrupted. Teachers dealt with removing students, caring for ill ones. Lessons were suspended and supervision as well." Spock tilted his head in a Vulcan shrug. "A group of students took advantage of that rare license."

"More than one?"

"I can usually hold my own in a singular altercation," Spock shrugged, for real this time, a human shrug, shoulders going up and down in a gesture that looked sloppy and clumsy on his oh-so-Vulcan physique. He finished the rest of the water, and held out his glass for more. "Please?"

"Thee are dehydrated from fever," T'Pau said, as the attendant went to fill his glass. "Thee need not beg for water here."

"Mother says it is polite to **ask**. _Please _and _Thank You_."

"Human manners," T'Pau said.

"Good manners are _universal_," Spock said the word in Standard, and sketched a glance at his Grandmother. "Mother **says**."

Against her will, T'Pau's lips twitched. "And how else does she teach thee to be _universal_?"

"My mother teaches at the Vulcan Science Academy," Spock corrected her, casually dismissive of that august institution, long inured to it by familial association. "My **tutors** teach me the Vulcan way," he added.

"And thy Father?"

Spock frowned slightly at this. "He doesn't **teach**. He leads Council. Mediates and negotiates with outworlders. I have tutors. Teachers at school."

"Indeed."

Spock flicked a brow, faintly wistful. "Once he taught me about computers. But my father has many demands on his attention. My mother as well." After a moment, he looked up at her. "Do my parents know where I am?"

"I have spoken to thy father."

Spock looked all the questions he didn't dare ask.

And which she would not answer. "Thee will remain here until I deem it otherwise. Or thy parents return."

He lowered his gaze. "Yes, Matriarch."

"Grandmother."

A peek up at her through long lashes. "Yes, Grandmother."

She hadn't expected herself to require control against a betraying amusement. It had been many years since she'd needed that exigency.

But the experience repeated itself, in the days that followed. He was an engaging child. Much less self-possessed than Sarek. Though she saw his father in him.

She hadn't thought to like the boy. She'd thought it would be an annoying but necessary duty to have him here. But she discovered, much to her surprise, for at her age she had thought herself past all surprises, that it was … pleasant, having a child about the house. She had been alone too long.

She had attendants, of course. Aides. Counselors. But they were not equals. Not family. To have someone to sit across from her at table. To ask her questions. To ask questions of him. To have family again in residence.

Yes, it was pleasant.

She had even at times gone to his room before she retired, to ensure he was sleeping well and not relapsing into fever.

She had not thought herself lonely. It had been decades since Sarek had lived with her. Longer still since her husband had passed. Only with this child here, did she realize how she had missed companionship.

Missed too much to give it up, now that it was in her possession.

She brought in tutors for the child when he grew strong enough to resume his studies. She told herself it was because the school had failed in its custodianship – and she herself had given them a piece of her mind for that failure, and the bruises Spock had arrived with were as nothing to the bruises she inflicted on the educators after her tongue lashing.

No. She told herself she kept him not for her own sake, but because, having taken responsibility for the child's health, she could not relinquish him until his own parents claimed him.

But in truth, she came to like having the child around. He was nothing like the rumors that had previously reached her, not unmanageable or defiant or mischievously bad. Of course he was still quite depleted. But she found him intelligent, respectful and appreciative. He asked for little, and gave her much in return. Somehow he drew from her long stories of his Grandfather and times past. She became loquacious. He told her stories in turn, Vulcan stories, human stories. His perspective on life she found at times shocking, but fascinating. And yet, for all the human contaminants she observed in his conversation, she could see that he was at essence, Vulcan. At times there was a twinkle in his eyes, a hint of buried humor in his interactions. Mischievous. But she herself was not beyond a type of caustic wit.

Weeks past, and months. The epidemic lessened, and resolved. Spock's bruises had faded. He could have returned to school. She thought of letting him go to his day school in Shikahr, forgoing the boarding school. But she held back from that. The boy was making leaps and bounds with tutors. And she knew her time with him was limited. Sarek would soon return.

And Sarek was not pleased at her interference in this. She had received several directives from him on returning Spock to his school. She had ignored them.

She even had thoughts of keeping the boy when Sarek went off planet in future. It was logical.

But she knew she could not ask that of Sarek. And she knew he would not allow her.

So this time was all she would have of Spock. After this, she'd never have another child pattering after her, asking her questions at mealtime. Of escorting him to his bed when he was required to retire. And at times listening to his soft, sifting breaths in the otherwise silent night when she paused on returning from her meditations to check on him.

_He is my child_, she thought fiercely, in the moments when emotions overtook her reason on the subject. Somehow, more even than with Sarek, she felt it for this child. _**Mine**_. _I will keep him._

But no. He belonged to a human woman, whom Spock spoke of with candid cluelessness. What she taught him. How she sang. That she was not Vulcan in some or another surprising difference he had come to discover. She could not tell time accurately without a watch or clock. She could not lightening calculate like Vulcans. Her memory was shockingly careless, unlike a Vulcan's true eidetic memory.

But she had captured her child's heart, T'Pau noted. Even without her being present. Even without T'Pau's encouragement, and with her repressive silence, the boy could not stop talking of her. Far more than he did of Sarek.

Sometimes, even well, he still called for her in the night. Never for Sarek. Nor for her, T'Pau thought, however she now cared for, even indulged him.

Only the human.

_Mother_, the boy called, in his fevered dreams. _Mother._

Even long past the time when the child's illness warranted her monitoring him for fever, T'Pau still paused between her meditation and her rooms, to see if perhaps, Spock ever called her name in his sleep.

But no. He called for his mother in his dreams. And in the day, he could not seem to stop talking of her.

Her Vulcan passions were stirred at this. She had possession now, and she grew to envy and even hate the human who held prior claim.

_This is now __**my**__ child. He is mine._

If only.

She even went so far as to have her aides review the particulars of custodial law. Purely as an academic exercise. Or if there was need in future, say if Sarek traveled far again, for long periods.

At least the boy called her name, now, as often or more than he spoke of his mother during the day. _Grandmother, Grandmother, Grandmother_, he called. Asking her questions. Soliciting her attention.

She remembered with a little shock now, how he had called her Matriarch when he had first arrived.

As Sarek did now, or by name, since she had rejected his wife.

And then the day she had been dreading came. Sarek warned her of his arrival. She was careful to icily inform him, outside of the boy's hearing, that her censure of the human was still ongoing. She would not meet her or have her at the Palace.

She did not tell Sarek that it was because she, T'Pau herself, Matriarch and mediator, did not trust herself not to claw the woman's eyes out over possession of the boy she had once thought to reject as heir.

_My child, now._

Vulcan passions could be roused even in herself.

Spock was working at his lessons in the garden, alone with a portable reader, when Sarek arrived.

"T'Pau," Sarek said to her, cold and unforgiving. "I have come for my son."

"Thee may follow," T'Pau said, not letting on how the loss would be as a knife to her heart.

Spock had his head down over his texts and computer, speaking without raising his eyes from them. "I am just finishing, Grandmother. It is early for tea." He looked up when he heard the dual footsteps, the heavier tread of his father, his face unguarded. And then the surprise registered. "Father!"

Sarek mentally castigated his son for every emotion that ran across his face in that brief moment before he regained control. Surprise, delight. And the anxious eager look, too, beyond him, for his mother. Followed by the rapid question. "Where is Mother? Is she here?"

T'Pau cared nothing for the lack of control on the child's face. She thought him far too young regardless to effect an adult's control. Her expression was closed over the child's clear love for his father, even as Sarek rejected it. It washed as acid to her over a wound.

Sarek spared his mother an uneasy glance, only taking in her disapproval. "She awaits us. Gather your things, quickly, Spock. It is past time to go."

"Yes, Father," Spock said, and flew away on eager feet.

"He **will** master full control," Sarek assured her, embarrassed for his child and himself.

"As you say," T'Pau said coldly, more concerned with mastering her own in the face of the leave-taking she had been dreading.

"You had no right to supersede my authority, T'Pau," Sarek said, responding icily in kind. "Nor to keep Spock so long from his school. I did not ask if of you, nor wish it."

"It was my judgment, in thy absence," T'Pau said, as remotely as if it mattered not to her.

"Regardless, there is no need for it to ever occur again," Sarek said. "Spock is best cared for within a dedicated educational environment."

_My child, _T'Pau thought. But all she could manage, in her pain, was, "Take him, Sarek." Even hearing herself, it was as if the boy, and not the leavetaking, were distasteful. But she had no control to spare for subtlety.

Sarek wasted no time leaving his mother to shepherd the boy out when he came downstairs. They had, as Amanda sometimes said, dodged a bullet, Sarek thought as he and Spock passed through the outer gardens and final gate of the Palace. T'Pau had been cold, but she had said nothing about denying Spock's inheritance. Sarek had checked, wary and cautious. But there were no petitions before Council to have Spock's heirship revoked.

It had been a dangerous interlude, and a curious one, given T'Pau had kept his son far longer than need required. Perhaps she simply hadn't noted him at all, beyond mere caretaking. Sarek was grateful it was over with no apparent adverse repercussions.

_Dodged a bullet._ Even **he** suffered from these human contaminants.

Outside the gate, by the same flyer Spock had watched disappear into the clouds nearly a half Vulcan year ago, stood Amanda. Spock picked up his feet and ran the last few steps, even as he felt his father's parental bond leashing against his mind, warning him to control. Spock caught himself and halted, just a few steps out of his Mother's reach. Putting his hands firmly behind his back, he said, "Greetings, Mother."

Amanda bit her lips and didn't reach for her son, though she was longing to hold him, crush him to her, verify by human tactile touch and smell that he was alive, warm, breathing, well. "Greetings, my son," she said. "Oh, you've gotten so big. And you're still so thin!"

"Grandmother doesn't have roses in her gardens. Or raspberries. Or bananas. She doesn't have any-"

"Let us go home," Sarek said, feeling the itch of T'Pau's eyes on the back of his neck. No doubt watching for Spock's emotional greeting of his mother. Sarek moved to hustle Spock into the aircar out of that dangerous gaze. What else had Spock betrayed in the past half year?

"I didn't thank Grandmother," Spock suddenly said, dodging his father. He turned, spying the old woman surveying them from the grounds. To Sarek's horror, he waved and called, "Thank you, Grandmother! Good-bye!"

"One does not thank **logic**, Spock," Sarek said tersely, exasperated over this lapse, "and it was **only** due to logic that you were here and that T'Pau cared for you."

Spock looked up at his father, wide-eyed and astonished. "Perhaps it was logic in part. At first. But Grandmother **likes** me."

"Get in the aircar," Sarek said, past patience.

"She does!" Spock said, suddenly digging his heels in, stubbornly glaring back at his father. "She rescued me. And she kept me long after-"

"Spock, get in the car!"

"Sarek, please," Amanda looked from her son to her husband, both already at odds. "**Please**. He's only a little boy. He's been so ill. And we just got home."

Ignoring this emotional plea from his mother, Spock looked across at T'Pau once more, anxiously willing his words to be true, but nodding to her with Vulcan reserve this time. Whatever he saw, satisfied him. Only then did he climb into the aircar with renewed Vulcan possession. Sarek closed the hatch behind him with relief, departing without any glance for T'Pau himself.

T'Pau nodded once more as the aircar climbed into the sky, seeing her grandson's face in one of the windows, his hand pressed against the panel, in a last farewell. Before they all disappeared.

She turned to go into her now far more empty Palace. She was alone again. But never as alone as she had been before her grandson's visit.

And whatever place the boy's mother had in his heart, she knew now she had a piece of it as well. She found her own heart softening, just a bit, to the human woman in taking that piece from her. Or in gratitude for her raising a son with a nature large enough to accept her and offer it.

_Thank you, human_, she thought. With a nod to 'universal' manners.

But still…

"**My** child," she said fiercely to the echoing walls.

An aide looked at her curiously, before being abruptly motioned away.

Logic or emotion, T'Pau knew it to be true.

_**"Mine!"**_

_Fini_

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